Bogged Down
by Vanessa S. Quest
Summary: Reid finds himself in a perilous situation and has to cope until back-up arrives. Not related to my other H/R series, this will be a multi-part, part 1 now up. Please R & R, as my narcissism drives me to write more drabble.
1. Chapter 1

In this moment, SSA Dr. Spencer Reid knew three things to be true, and not the truth that was some objective truth that could comfort him with religious fervor like statistics did for him, but three gritty, horrible and real truths that he was facing. What those three things were, to his dismay, were that his back-up was still about ten minutes out, the officer whom had taken him to this location had been shot in the head, and that it was dark and he had no idea where the hell the unsub was. Everything else was gravy.

He was terrified in the wholest sense of the word. The nostalgia he was feeling for a certain rural patch of Georgia wasn't making this situation any better, either. The air was stifling with humidity, the ground damp from a brief summer rain, and that in and of itself made it even harder to tread the terrain.

This was what it felt like to die, he didn't have to tell himself that; after all with an eidetic memory he could just instantly recall that exact sense that had happened not quite long-enough ago for his psyche to have healed. This feeling in his chest was the same feeling he had shortly before Tobias Henkel had successfully put him into cardiac arrest (after his brief seizure that is), and that horrible, sickening fear was present now. When he heard a branch snap behind him he quickly pivoted then dove behind what appeared to be a bush, but was actually a fallen tree branch from the earlier storm.

Two shots were fired in his direction as he stumbled to get away from the shooter, air a very limited commodity that his lungs really wished they were better stocked for. The exact moment that he turned from the profiler hunting the unsub to the potential victim being hunted was fuzzy…

…Punctuated only by the forcible sound of a gunshot muffled by hitting flesh and ripping through a skull. Reid surmised that the son of a bitch was using a .45 Magnum, his ears were still ringing from the shot and he hadn't even been close to the officer or the unsub at the time.

He stumbled down an incline, a 70-degree drop that lasted for about twelve feet before petering to a 40-degree incline then close-enough to be level. His knee buckled in an unhappy reminder that physical therapy did not magically make ligaments reattach or fully repair themselves.

So instead of losing his hiding place, because in this essential moment he had to do just that, he held his wince and sucked in three breaths before putting pressure on his knee, praying that he didn't just undo what took an entire surgery and months of P/T to fix. His prayers were answered, either by the titanium joint the surgeons had put in or some godly presence, he didn't want to evaluate it. Standing, he started to maneuver the hill, closely so he could use it for cover as he proceeded to make his way back to the initial target. He might be alone now, but he had two things the unsub didn't: time, and an IQ of 187.

After putting fifty yards between where the unsub last saw him and where he was currently standing, he braved the hill. Spencer wanted to at least radio in 'shots fired, officer down' before trying to confront the man on his terms. As long as his friends knew his situation, he knew he'd be able to pull through, and perhaps more importantly, that they'd come prepared.

He hadn't been prepared; however, for being cold-clocked on the side of his head by the butt of a pistol. It sent him reeling to the ground in anguish and a splash of crimson. He really hated the dark. Using one of the academy moves Morgan had taught him in his first or second year of actual field-work, Reid sent his good leg upward, hooking behind the unsub's knee before jerking back roughly, bending his knee and sending the son of a bitch murderer to the ground. He had been lucky when the creep lost his gun too. Now, they were on the same page, in the dark and not in immediate grasp of a gun.

Reid did something he never had much practice in doing, then. He threw a punch, a hook if he was correct, connecting to the cheek of a stunned murderer as they began jockeying for top position, unfortunately he hadn't managed to knock the unsub to his back, and thus was working with less leverage.

He dreaded what looked like milky fair skin clenching fingers together over his head and then slamming them much closer to Reid's head, namely at the moment of contact. That was painful. Not as bad as the steal handle of the gun, but being bashed in the face repeatedly by the violent offender was anything but peaches. Clutching for anything he could use to slow the onslaught, Reid's right hand finally found a hardy rock before introducing it to the unsub's skull for a change. Using that swinging momentum as forward motion, he managed to get on top this time, until the unsub grabbed him by the wrists and started to roll.

It struck him, with the ground, that this was like those death-rolls alligators would do, namely as he continued to roll down the hill with the unsub in more control than gravity should have allowed, until they hit water. Reid's body suddenly lost momentum, as it grounded to a halt in 20 inches worth of water. Trying to sit up, trying to keep track of how much time had passed, Reid's mind was processing at a speed only adrenalin (and freakishly genius person) could attain. He managed to force his head above the water only to be pushed under again, hands now snaking around his throat as the unsub moved in for a more personal kill.

But Reid knew better than him, he had his profile, he knew damn well that the unsub wasn't used to actual manual strangulation. It takes time, energy, and a sheer animosity that this piece of work was not going to get. Instead of trying to free himself from the unsub's grasp, Reid's hands busied themselves elsewise. It was counter-instinctive but Reid managed to force his mind to work with his body, not against each other. His fists hit in rapid succession to where Reid presumed the unsub's diaphragm to be, and after the ninth hard strike to the solar plexus the hands around his throat loosened, Reid took the opportunity to thrust his head and shoulders above the water line and gasp in the air he had so direly wanted.

One lingering hand, the unsub's dominant, left hand, kept it's vigilance around Reid's throat though. Not being shaken off, even though the grip had loosened. Swatting at it, Reid knew the next few moments would be critical. He saw flashlights beaming from the hillside, going in the wrong direction, "HERE! OVER HERE!" He yelled before pressure suddenly was applied to his trachea in a very unpleasant manner.

Suddenly Reid was underwater again, but it wasn't as dark this time, stray beams from maglites were swinging over and past him then returning back to where his arms were flailing, no doubt splashing water.

Cognitively, Reid knew this kind of struggling was a waste for what limited oxygen he had, but he was having a hard time convincing his body to again listen to his empirical orders, but in that moment he again revisited the profile and a very risky thought struck him. The unsub doesn't have the experience to know just HOW LONG it actually takes a person to drown. Of course, it varies depending on blood-gas levels of oxygen and carbon dioxide, health, and physical prowess and age, but Reid knew his best bet to get out of it was to fake it.

So he faked it like he did on every date Morgan set him up on with a woman. Literally dying and dating held things in eerie similarity. The vapid conversations were the same forms of acting he used now to convey the desire to the opposing party, in the dating instances usually as chesty blonds with roots the length of his fingernails and in ways of the unsub in the form of a Caucasian 33 year old with black hair and piercing eyes, it was too dark to tell what color they actually were.

His ploy seemed to work, the pressure on his throat eased up, Reid took it as his chance maybe his last one even. He maneuvered his leg just under the unsub's chest before extending fully, again pulling his head out of the water, this time hacking and coughing the mouthful of water he hadn't managed to swallow, he was sure some got in, the way his lungs burned it was a certainty. Taking in a gasp he yelled, "WE'RE OVER HERE! IN THE CREEK!" Coughing, he tried to space himself from the unsub as more foot-falls drew closer.

Reid couldn't fathom why his vision was suddenly growing darker, he could visually SEE the lights moving toward him, his retina clearly taking it in, but the edges of his vision were what started to go dark. More and more until he was looking through pin-pricks, and even then he really disliked what he saw. What he saw was the unsub's forearm, before it finished hooking around his throat and pulling him to a muscular body he was unfamiliar with. He felt his service piece being taken from his holster as shouts and commands were being barked from a semi-circle forming around them.

"GET OUT OF THE WATER!"

"PUT THE GUN DOWN!"

"LET HIM GO!"

Some cop, Prentiss, and Hotch. He could tell that was who said what, but Reid wasn't able to manage the very important sentence he wanted, no… needed to say. The gun was underwater, there's no way it would be able to fire.

Apparently, he didn't need to say it though. The unsub was either a fool who wanted to go out in a blaze of glory with ONE more victim, or really did want to suicide by cop because he pressed the tip of the gun to Reid's forehead and, in a sound Reid still had nightmares about to this day, heard a CLICK! Nothing. Then again, click, again, click… in his frustrations, the unsub threw the gun at whomever was standing in front of them, Reid vaguely smelled Hotch's aftershave and for some reason envisioned him as the brunt of the swarm. There were suddenly two hands around his throat now, though.

Suffocation, it wasn't how Reid thought he'd go. Nor did he think he'd die in front of Hotch or the others while they watched, but apparently that was how he was going to really die, Reid thought that somewhere between unconscious and conscious, until he felt crushing weight on top of him, he was back in the water again. The warm, unforgiving water, and then there was relief. The crushing pain around his throat was gone, he still couldn't breathe, but he knew, at least scientifically that he was getting blood back to his brain. His eyes blinked as his head was yanked out of the water fiercely, he almost winced with how fingers tangled in his hair to do such, and the first unrestricted breath he took in wreaked of that wonderful aftershave Hotch used.

He was on solid ground now; he had felt himself being dragged. Another parallel he didn't really want to make to Georgia, but nonetheless one he had to assert. He could feel the mud wedge in between the lip of his shoes and his mismatched socks, a buffer between his skin. As Reid's eyes began to regain focus, looking upward, he noticed the stars, the trees, and SAC Aaron Hotchner, all seeming to look right back down at him.

"We need a medic…!" Hotch shouted back, Morgan pushed a now-cuffed unsub into the arms of awaiting detectives. He was sopping wet.

Reid smirked at Morgan, "My hero…" he managed in a sarcastic enough of a tone that Morgan even smiled despite feeling just as sticky and miserably wet as Reid did.

"You owe me for dry-cleaning." Morgan answered haughtily back.

"You didn't have to tackle ME, too." Reid mentioned before looking back at Hotch. He tried and failed to suppress a hacking cough. His hand touched his own throat before he immediately released, hating the lingering feeling of anything confining to the sensitive flesh. It hurt, and he was amazed his voice wasn't raspy… but it didn't stop Reid from trying to physically reduce his attempts to suck in air.

Returning his view to the sky, he said in a low voice, only meant for himself and maybe even Hotch, "I'm okay…" He himself amazed.

He didn't expect any comments, let alone rebuttals, but that didn't stop Hotch, "Like hell you are. You look like a drowned puppy."

Reid turned to face him, the mental imagery was more amusing than he thought it should be, and there in Hotch's stress-aged face, he saw in his sparkling eyes that sign of relief and knew he really was better off than what Hotch admitted.

That was what made him sit up, a sign of bravado or strength, whatever anyone wanted to call it he didn't really care. "The officer with me… the unsub shot him… he's dead."

"We know. We found him first, before we heard you yell." Hotch said, solemnly. "Rossi and JJ are looking for the last victim in the cabin."

Reid shook his head, "She's dead… he must have heard us coming or something, but there's no way he didn't finish her off once he realized we were here." Reid thought aloud.

"In all fairness, Reid, you don't know that. You didn't get to the cabin so you couldn't really know. We have to check."

Reid nodded in understanding, but that didn't change the feeling he had.

That son of a bitch had known they were in his driveway, well, it was more of a private road that ended in front of a cabin, but all the same, the man had heard them, or seen them, or something… and given how he tried to take Reid down, he knew the attitude extended to the missing woman too. He felt a sickening amount of guilt when the idea struck him, that maybe she was lucky enough to die BEFORE he had the chance to torture her as much as he'd have liked. His face twisted in disgust at the actual concept of wishing for another human being's death, an innocent person… Hotch caught the sudden change in expressions and Reid couldn't help but wonder why the hell was Hotch's face STILL so close to his?

"You know that it isn't your fault, don't you?" Hotch said firmly, Reid was certain Hotch was not a man of flesh but of rock and concrete… and rebar.

"Intellectually, yeah, I know that. He had kidnapped her before the press conference went out, and he liked to torture victims for 48 hours, we got here 3 hours after her abduction. Three. That's impressive, but that still doesn't mean she's alive… He isn't the type of monster who'd give up his prey just because the jig is up. He might have just killed her faster than he wanted to, to try to escape or something but that doesn't make me feel any better."

"We don't even know if she IS dead, Reid." Hotch reminded him.

Reid's hands covered his face. Over the earpieces they heard confirmation of what Reid was already thinking, realizing…

"We found a body, she's wearing what our missing person was last seen in. He cut off her face and hands. She bled out, she's dead." Prentiss said, with far too much description for Reid to have wanted.

Physical pain actually showed in his face as he crumpled into himself. His hands gripped his own hair, mimicking the roughness of Hotch's hand as he had pulled him from the water. Hotch pulled out Reid's earpiece before pulling him into his chest in an embrace.

So, this too is like Georgia. Reid felt bitter, he felt angry, but more over he felt that same sinking fear of the dark and the clear realization that he was not going to get to sleep tonight, or even tomorrow night for that matter. Tears began streaming down his face as Hotch pulled him closer into the embrace.

"Mortality isn't your sin, Reid." Hotch said, "You shouldn't have to feel survivor's guilt."

Reid didn't have the heart to tell Hotch that the sentiment sounded more like a death-threat than pep-talk but he left it alone. It was enough that Hotch was lending him a shoulder to cry on and doing it in a discrete manner, well, as discrete as two men hugging in the middle of a swarm of cops and BAU field agents.

After another few moments, Reid pulled back, not truly wanting to lose the contact, but all the same knowing that he had to. He felt sick, dizzy and nauseous and he didn't fully know why. Was he coming off the adrenalin high and crashing, or was he a candidate for antibiotics to prevent pneumonia or 'dry drowning', he could have rattled off the statistics for drowning-victims who died because of secondary effects, but he was already depressed and didn't really feel the urge to resort to it.

"Hotch, I…"

"Any idea where the EMTs are?" Hotch asked over the airways, he listened intently for a response before locking eyes with Reid. "We need to get back up that hill, can you manage or do you want me to carry you?"

Reid looked at Hotch trying to assess if that was a joke or a threat. With the grace of a newborn deer, Reid managed to get to his shaky feet before Hotch helped him traverse the climb, a hand on the small of his back the entire time. Hotch maneuvered Reid to sit on the back of the bumper of the ambulance as a pen-light shone into Reid's eyes one at a time, assessing him.

He felt a migraine approaching, something he rarely got but could easily relate to drug-withdrawals and head-trauma… he just hoped he wouldn't have to see the lifeless body of victim number 4, he curled into himself before feeling fabric drape his shoulders, his head pulled up to see Hotch's hands release the blanket over his shoulders.

"Thanks." He looked at the EMTs before mentioning, "I'm fine, I don't need to go in…"

He felt a few glares on him, and he guessed who they belonged to, the incredulous ones were the EMTs and a deputy-sheriff, the miffed one was Hotch's, and the near explosive one was Morgan's.

"Sit your skinny ass on that stretcher, Reid before I strap you down myself. You almost drowned, you're bleeding from the head, and look like death warmed over… and I only think THAT'S because of the heat." Morgan said, matter-of-factly.

Hotch attempted to convince him with reason, more than raw emotion, "Moreover, you probably think you're okay because you're going into shock. I'm ordering you to go in and get checked out."

"Ordering…?" It made it more serious than Reid thought it was, Hotch rarely actually pulled rank on the profilers, but he would do it if he felt he had to tow the line. "…Do I really have to use a gurney?"

The EMT worker laughed, "You can just sit on it, sir."

Reid seemed physically relieved.

"We'll come get your statement in a couple of hours, once they get you checked out." Hotch locked eyes with Reid meaningfully, in that intense glance, Reid wished he was still in Hotch's arms, it felt so much better there. Now he felt naked, despite the draped blanket, the subtle injuries he had been ignoring until now were starting to throb and ache.

He simply nodded once, the paramedic helped him get onto the stretcher inside the back of the ambulance before closing the door.

Reid silently began reliving what had transpired tonight, dissecting it and Georgia, black-listing the overlapping features which seemed to be so innumerous. His silence became deafness as his walls closed in on him, a self-loathing that he felt from even the thought of what using dilaudid was like, to the level of sheer pain culminating behind his temples, he bowed his head and began to shake.

There was no doubting the sureness that this was going to indeed be a long, hard night.

To Be Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

As Reid stared up at the fluorescent lights lining the tiled ceiling, he continued to bemoan the pounding between his ears. After being poked and prodded, x-rayed, put through the CT scanner and MRI, the doctors informed him he had a slight concussion, and a hairline skull fracture.

There was a sad amount of certainty that if Reid hadn't been in as much god-awful pain as he was, he'd find his response to the question, "On a scale of 1 through 10, 10 being the worst pain you've ever felt, how do you feel?"

Which, he promptly responded, "AGH!" would have been amusing; well, maybe if someone Lewis Black delivered it. As it were, he was in complete misery. Because of prior… problems… with opiates, Reid also had the forbearance to deny treatment with any opiate-based pain medication. That, for the record, left for very, very few options for pain management.

Right now, he was finding out that it mostly included ice, which was currently parked on his head to numb the searing pain traversing his skull. The pain bounced back and forth, side by side, and all around his skull to the base of his neck and back to the tips of his hair like he imagined any 3 year old when given an energy drink would do when confined to a padded room.

To top it off, the most distracting thought he could pull out was definitely from the PTSD play-book. He was sure he had lost at least three half-hour chunks of time within said flashbacks, none of which were a happy convenience to him. However, he found that instead of lying down and being fully aware during an MRI his brain preferred to over-analyze the entire draining ordeal he just lived through, scents, colors, tastes (it was a lie to say water had no flavors, even distilled water would pick up flavor through plastic tubes, and creek-water definitely had some minerals …and natural excrement… in it to add flavor), sounds and even the sight of not seeing… all of it played back in better-than HD resolution. Blow-by-blow and then it suddenly stopped, the room returned to nothing but a continual thunking sound as the MRI's large magnetic reader tumbled within the confines of it's own design. That had made his headache worse, magically.

Of course, that wasn't even the worst of it. No, the MRI was bad, but the CT scan with contrast-dyes, now that was the epitome of hell. The technician administering the test warned that when the dye was injected into his IV that his mouth and hands might feel warm and tingly, he didn't mention a word about how every soft, moist, blood-rich bit of tissue would literally feel like it was on fire AND electrocuted at the same exact time. No, instead he had to quietly wonder why his anus felt on fire too. A very, very awkward question he didn't really want to ask about. Instead he just tried to figure out what the chemical structure of the dye was and what could possibly be the mechanism in which his blood-vessels were reacting (which most notably was that the capillaries reacted by some exchange to dilate creating the heat sensation, he still couldn't figure out the taser-based sensation unless it effected nerves too, but he assumed it must have).

His entire face had blushed into a pinkish rosy color, his mouth the least of his concerns, but even his ears felt hot, his throat, by the way also in absolute agony before the injection, even worse. Behind his eyes, even! He didn't know what he had done to deserve this horrible act of torture, but if a nurse dared ask him what he was on the scale now, he was pretty sure he'd start it with asterisks and end with exclamations, stars, and inaudible screaming. After forty-five minutes, which was apparently the time it took for the dye to be completely metabolized by his kidneys, he had gone through a flashback on Georgia, and felt the same painful sensation of dilaudid possessing his body the first time. Not the pleasant high of it, either, no, the actual effect the drug itself did physiologically without the psychological perks. CT scans became the top of his list of medical treatments to avoid for the rest of his life, right behind that was vivisections, and open-heart surgery—unanesthetized.

The third flashback was making it hard to file a report though. It wasn't a pure memory, in fact, it was a meshwork of everything—not just Georgia, not just this case, it was everything, and it was becoming harder and harder to discern what went where, which memory was what.

As he stared at the ceiling, the curtain sectioning that made his a 'private suite' drew back. Hotch came in. Reid shielded his eyes from the fluorescent lights that were blaring behind that cloth barrier, his head pounding. It struck Reid with no subtle irony that hospitals were, in a whole, decorated horribly tacky.

"Reid, how are you holding up?" Hotch said gently, Prentiss was along for the ride, Morgan apparently was in the midst of interrogating the unsub, JJ no doubt busy composing press-releases if not already presenting, and Rossi… well, Reid would be MORE surprised if he showed up instead of sit at his desk and twiddle his thumbs. Not that Reid thought he was cold by any means, cold… no, aloof… absolutely. He couldn't help that he was a loner, so Reid quietly just accepted that he wasn't the sort to want to hand-hold. Garcia was, but she was also about 300 miles away and in front of several computer screens.

Catching eyes with his employer, Reid gave a smile even if he felt anything but positive, "I'll live, though they really want to challenge that. They won't let me have any coffee…"

Hotch's eyes widened, "I see." Prentiss smiled back, tucking the extra cup of coffee behind her back before discretely dropping it in the receptacle, Reid didn't notice it though.

"Did they say why?"

"They gave me the laundry list of substances and drugs to avoid because of the concussion… I have a big problem with a diuretic being on that list, but the blood-thinners are obvious marks. No aspirin, no Tylenol, no warfarin…"

"You don't have a heart condition…"

"I know, it's just the black-list they have, it isn't personalized." He muttered under his breath something about how vindictive someone would have to be to purposefully deprive him of caffeine. "No alcohol, there's more but it's pretty much all in the category of stuff that will make me pass out, stuff that'll make me bleed worse, or stuff that will make me happy." He shrugged his shoulders, Hotch smiled softly, Emily's smile on the other hand was much more overt.

"For how long?" Prentiss asked.

Reid let out a very large groan, "A week! Can you believe it? A week without coffee… it's horrible. It's cruel and unusual, even! We have constitutional amendments to protect people from that sort of thing."

Hotch scratched behind his ear, looking out to the side, Reid recalled that as one of those practiced cues to stop ranting. He rarely picked up on those which is usually when Hotch would tell him to stop, particularly when statistics were involved.

"Do you think you can give us your statement?" Hotch said, gently. More gently than Reid expected actually, it left him sighing in disappointment.

"I can… but, there's a bit of a problem." He started but paused, looking at Prentiss. Not that he particularly minded her, but it was hard to show anyone on the team weakness. With the stark exception of Hotch, being that he was his actual boss, it was more a matter of not wanting to be coddled, and while Reid was everyone's baby brother or some equivalent when it came to physical prowess… intellectually, well… that was just not a fair comparison.

Hotch followed Reid's eyes to meet Prentiss's, who took the hint.

"I… um, think I'll call to check in with Rossi and Morgan, see what they've got."

Reid smiled fondly to her, really appreciating her willingness to give him privacy. After all, he was about to dredge up some of the worst days of his life, he really wanted the most minimal of audiences for the performance.

"What's the problem?" Hotch said, recapturing eye-contact.

Reid let that eye-contact linger until finally breaking it after a few good moments. "This is hard for me to say, really hard… I don't usually get… _confused_. It has to be from being pistol-whipped."

"Confused, how so?"

"I remember everything, but I know that it's scrambled… things that happened are out of order, and the more I try to put it back in order the more I keep thinking back to what happened in Georgia, and well… I can't really just…" He sighed.

"We can take some time, do a little at a time, would that help?"

"Tremendously," Reid insisted. He bowed his head, "I remember what happened in the beginning the best… after I got hit in the head, there are definitely holes though."

"It's understandable." Hotch said carefully.

"Maybe for normal people, but I have an eidetic memory… I'm used to remembering EVERYTHING, so not being able to… well it's freaking me out quite honestly." He looked at Hotch who gave him an empathetic look, proof that he still had a good 20 years left for a career in the FBI if he so chose it.

"…Well, I guess I should start with when we got separated. That's a good base-line, I think. Well, the deputy with me said the bridge could take SUVs, but halfway over it in the squad-car there were some snaps, some of the supports went I think, so he called it in and you guys were rerouted. We were the first car and we made it over it, so we kept point. Morgan was the one who said the reroute would take an extra ten minutes, to cross over to the other bridge. So, we kept driving. When we got to the cabin, we both got out. We discussed the pros and cons of waiting for back-up but before we could decide one way or another there was a loud sound…"

Reid took a deep breath, concentrating, "It sounded like a screen door slamming closed, so I headed for the rear door and he headed for the front door… I was about half-way around the house when I heard two shots ring out, from the same gun. It was like pop… pop. Well, except it was really loud. I thought it sounded like a really high-powered pistol, like a .45 caliber. I was already making my way back to the coup but I was waiting to hear for a back-up shot… I knew there wasn't going to be though. It sounded like the unsub hit Deputy Ryan, then waited for him to hit the ground and then do a kill-shot. By time I got back to the other side of the house, I couldn't see the unsub but I could see Deputy Ryan leaning against the squad car, but he was on the wrong side."

"Wrong side…?"

"Shots were fired from the left, he was leaning on the left side of the squad-car by the hood, he wouldn't have had any cover. I could barely see, but when I got to him I could see the hole in his skull… it was horrible, I could see parts of his brain." Reid choked up for a moment, he closed his eyes to gather himself before opening them, "But for some reason… I checked his pulse anyway… I should have radioed in shots fired then and there, but I checked his pulse…"

"Reid, you did the right thing…" Hotch confirmed, but it didn't seem to matter to Reid, he was too deep in the recounting to really be able to adequately see what was around him.

"…That's when I heard a noise in the woods, coming up from the same side, so I broke away into the woods to get better cover."

Reid stopped for a few moments, Hotch was sure this was because he was trying to put the pieces in order.

"I was in the woods, and I was moving quickly, not running because I couldn't see well, but I remember hearing him approaching from behind, so I kept looking over my shoulder and had to chance running for more cover when I saw some leaves… I heard him fire two shots in time for me to get behind the brush, but I tripped a little and before I realized it I was falling down a hill."

"I wanted to circle back, to get back to the squad car and radio in shots fired, I didn't want you guys walking in blind, so I kept close to the hillside for cover and after I put some space between where I had fell and where I thought the unsub was, I made my way up… I thought he'd follow behind me, but he didn't… he anticipated it. That's when he hit me with the butt of his gun, things start getting choppy after that." Reid warned.

"Do you need to take a moment?"

Reid grabbed at the fabric of his pants, "…No, I remember thinking I had to get the gun away from him, to get him off me, so I hit him. It didn't work, so I tried again. And I just thought, 'Try again, fail better…' but he was relentless, he started to clobber me in the face and head…"

"With the gun?" Hotch asked, clarifying the point.

"…Huh? No, he dropped it when I hit him, that's why he started hitting me in the face, because there were leaves all around us, because we were near some trees… he couldn't find it, well, he didn't find it… he might have been able to if he was looking for it."

"Right." Hotch just mentally chimed that Reid was obviously on the edge of his mental limits in the description, he was starting to leave out key points making Hotch need to be vigilant to get all the information as correctly as he could.

"I knocked the legs out from under him, so that he wouldn't be on top of me," Hotch gave him a questioning look, "He was standing over me, around my hips so I couldn't roll one direction or another, I was propped up like this…" He demonstrated by raising himself off the bed with his elbows behind him, so he was face up, knees cocked. "I used one of those self-defense moves Morgan preaches all the time, but he fell on top of me, so I tried to roll… you know, improvise…"

"…That ended poorly, because he grabbed my arms and took control of the roll, we went down the hill, then I was under water and there were hands around my throat…"

"Are you alright, Reid…?" Hotch was measuring him, Reid could tell, but he just couldn't pull things out fast enough, clean enough… it was really… fuzzy.

"Then I was out of the water… well, my head… but then I was under again"

Hotch could see the equivalent of a hamster exhaustedly trying to run the wheel and after epically failing, being taken around the thing from the momentum.

"…I screamed…" He paused, "I saw your lights and I screamed where we were… my head was out of the water, I… I remember, I kicked him and got above water, but he was still holding my throat, I screamed again, and then the last thing I remember was not being able to see and being tackled."

"Then I was under water again, and then something pulled my hair… and I think I was dragged? And then I was in the back of an ambulance."

"Arguing with us about going here," Hotch added, "I know what happened from there."

"Good, because I sure don't…"

"There is one thing you did seem to leave out."

"Really? What?" Reid asked, genuinely wanting to reclaim as many memories as he could, anything to help. Hotch closed the curtain before returning to Reid's gurney.

Hotch leaned Reid's face up to lock eyes, "That you scared the hell out of me." He brushed lips with Reid before pulling back.

Reid's eyes went wide, "But we're in public…!" His blush made it obvious that he didn't mind it so much.

Hotch took that as sign of acceptance, "Then when we get back, stay with me until you're cleared. We can settle this out of the public eye."

Reid's eyes darted back and forth trying to understand, it took him longer than he thought it should, but then it hit him… he didn't mind Hotch kissing him, he minded it being in public. The first time Hotch had ever kissed him, a true sign of a romantic inkling and …wait, Hotch just invited him to stay at his place for a week. Reid caught eyes with Hotch, obviously gaining grounds with the idea.

"I need to get a few things from my place first." He said, as much of a confirmation as Reid was comfortable out-right saying, but the blush was a give-away as far as Hotch was concerned.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

Prentiss did her best to look like she wasn't listening in on the conversation in the curtained off section of hospital space. She held her phone to her ear as Rossi's voice came in gently from the line. Rossi didn't have new information, it was a short ride over from the hospital, and he knew that she knew it too. The only one who probably didn't realize how close the hospital was from the station was Reid, and thus the only reason anyone would call to check in after only fifteen minutes of interrogation would be to get out of a room.

It was unspoken but crystal clear to Rossi as to why Prentiss would call, "Is he really that bad?"

Prentiss smiled softly, "Something's obviously wrong, but he doesn't want to admit it. Not to me at least, I think it's the concussion."

"Makes sense… He probably wants to keep it under wraps so no one worries about him." Rossi concluded.

"…More." Prentiss clarified, Rossi laughed on the other end of the receiver. What that did to her should be illegal in at least fourteen states.

Hotch pulled the curtain open, Prentiss did a fast heel-pivot to look like she hadn't been staring down the sectional, it didn't seem convincing to anyone apparently, because Hotch cleared his throat.

"I've… uh… got to go Rossi." Prentiss disconnected the phone, Rossi merely looked at it in amusement before looking back into the interrogation room. Morgan and a deputy sheriff, Morrison, were surrounding the unsub.

Morgan's shirt was still damp, despite being hand-rung a few times the wrinkles were surprisingly minimal. He dropped his hands onto the table, rolling his shoulders forward as his face came even closer to the unsub. This wasn't a case of good-cop bad-cop interrogation, this was pissed off bad-cop and looking the other way-cop… except both men were switching roles of intimidator.

Dave tapped on the glass it made Morgan push off the table, "Now you just stay right there, man… I'll be right back." Morgan said, the way he said it made it clear that he knew the unsub wasn't going anywhere.

Morgan opened the door and walked over to the observation room. "How is he?" Morgan started as soon as he could see Rossi.

"Apparently he has a skull-fracture and a concussion. He also has holes in his story." He shrugged his shoulders.

Morgan raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "Reid? _Not_ remember something? He must be a wreck." Dark, dark brown orbs shifted slightly, moisture filled his eyes with emotion, compassion for his friend, his Junior-G-Man as Garcia had often enough referred to Reid as.

"He isn't going to keel over dead, and I don't recommend you let him see you with that look on your face unless you really want to make him miserable."

Morgan nodded, "True. I'll say one thing, though… the kid landed one hell of a hit on Jenkins, that son of a bitch." He motioned through the glass to the unsub at the table, with a swollen jaw.

"I'm sure he'd love to hear that." Rossi mentioned, "Hotch just finished up, Prentiss said his discharge papers are already being put through, so they'll probably be a little bit longer."

"Let JJ know, would you? I need to get back in there, Jenkins hasn't confessed yet but he will. They all do." Morgan said with a fierce determination that Rossi thought was pretty founded.

Of the cases the team had worked, by time arrests were made, they usually didn't need a confession but the former district attorney in Hotch just couldn't walk away without trying for the slam-dunk. It didn't work all the time, Rossi could remember three or four hold-outs since he had started back up with the team, but that was a remarkably small number compared to how many cases they actually got across their desks.

He noticed Morgan's return into the interrogation room, which didn't surprise him in the least. What did shock him was Dr. Spencer Reid walking in through the Sheriff's office heading toward the observation room, flanked by Prentiss and Hotch, Hotch with a secure hand on Reid's arm to probably keep the kid from falling over.

"What the hell…?" Rossi couldn't believe Hotch would let the boy-genius out of the hospital only to bring him straight here, instead of say… his hotel room. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did seem to misinterpret one thing, though. Reid stopped short of the observation room, instead he headed to the office down the hall that the team had used as a hub. He looked at the Sheriff also standing inside the observation room. "I'll be right back."

With that, Rossi did something he tended to avoid unless deemed truly necessary. He went to meddle.

He was in the hallway in time to hear the soft click of the door closing to the office the BAU had used, the files and photos prominently displayed over a cork-board and a long table with several uncomfortable chairs all pushed underneath. He opened it and fixed a stare on Hotch before looking at Reid in passing. "Welcome back, kid. Aaron, a word…?" It wasn't a question, despite the tone it held. It was clear Rossi-speak for Aaron get your ass out in the hallway now, as your former boss, former mentor, and friend I have something to tell you, and it probably involves a blow to the back-side of the head.

Hotch gave him a look, "Reid, just wait in here. I'll be right back." He gave his own glare to Rossi challenging him to step up against a fellow alpha-male, and the current team leader. He closed the door softly after leaving Prentiss and Reid in the room alone. He quickly held his finger to his lip and then jerked his head toward the right. "Not here."

Rossi followed his lead, distancing himself from the door.

"Before you say anything, we're just here to pick up his bag and JJ. He needs supervision, and until we wrap up things here, well…"

"Why the hell isn't he still in the hospital then?" Rossi spat, "What part of Skull-Fracture doesn't sound threatening? Who the hell even signed his discharge papers?"

"His tests all came back, he's refusing pain-management medication, there's nothing else they can do for him there. Besides that, this case is almost completely wrapped up, and we all need to pack up to head out."

"You think we're leaving by tonight?" Rossi checked, "We still haven't cracked Jenkins."

"We will, and even if we don't, we have testimonials." Hotch mentioned, "Plus enough forensics to give a jury the CSI experience they've come to know and love."

Vehemence, Rossi knew that tone well. It was one of the most frustrating things law enforcers had to face, the TV-savvy juror who just didn't understand that science seldom gave all the answers at once. No, a profile and two red fibers and an arrest was sometimes all they got. Not the bloody-fingerprint or smoking gun, but field-work. Field work where asking a junky who would narc was the best source a cop might be able to get, that wasn't what a jury wanted to convict on though. "Just get him out of here, it can't be good for him to be back into it so soon. You know damn well about PTSD."

Rossi might not have been there when Gideon had gone through it, but he didn't have to be to know about it. He wasn't there when Reid went missing in Georgia either, but the unspoken story was clear to everyone on the team… despite how much Reid might try to minimize it or even forget. It was clear as day why Reid stopped wearing short-sleeved shirts that showed his elbows. It didn't make anyone think less of him, hell he went through so much and that was the worst thing he did. If anything it was impressive.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at Dave before nodding his head, "Can you handle things here for a little bit?"

"Get him settled back in. I presume you plan of having JJ keep tabs on him after you leave?"

Hotch nodded, "I took his statement so I want to get it down on paper. Morgan might even be able to use some of it against Jenkins." Just as Hotch mentioned the name, the Sheriff approached from down the hall.

"We've got him talking… your man, Morgan, he's good. Damn good." He said, truly impressed by what the younger field agent apparently pulled off. "He confessed to killing at least seven of the victims, and to killing my officer."

Hotch nodded, "Good. We'll get out of your hair then." He smiled at the Sheriff, knowing how territorial cops were, especially with claiming glory in the press and in election-years.

It wasn't too long after the Sheriff had exited the observation room with the good news that Morgan had exited and wound his way towards the temporary office. He was a little surprised to see Hotch and Rossi talking, more because he was sure Hotch would have stayed with Reid until he was released, "Is he out of the hospital already?"

It wasn't far enough away of a memory to recall just what Reid had looked like less than four hours ago. Blood caking his hair and forehead, those red marks around his throat, which would undoubtedly bruise into the same choke-patterns Morgan had seen in far too many autopsies, it would be strange to see those marks lessen and break down over time, people who had those kinds of bruises usually didn't live _to_ heal. Then of course, there was that look in his eyes. That look of horror from seeing something too close, too real, too preventable play out before him. He remembered the dead deputy sheriff, and the two smears along his carotids.

Reid had checked for a pulse when the man's head was blown off. That screamed to him shock and PTSD, but neither he nor Hotch said anything to address that.

Hotch thumbed toward the door Morgan was standing near, "Keep your voice down. He has a bad headache."

Morgan nodded.

"And Morgan…?"

"Yeah Hotch?"

"He lost just about everything that happened after we found him."

"Shit, are you serious…? Reid?" He looked incredulously at Hotch. Hotch nodded, in a deathly serious manner. He swiped at his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger before he fixed a pleased look on his face and opened the door.

What happened had scared him. Scared him deeply, seeing that son of a bitch Jenkins choking Reid and all he could think of were the bodies of the women they'd found. Cut up and shot, butchered to guarantee a closed-coffin service, the bastard had a deep fascination with human limits of pain, and he had been that close to Reid. And sure, in the BAU they had sat across from Serial Killers in the past, hell, they interviewed them all the time, but this was different. This wasn't a close-contact with controlled perimeters, this was gritty, this was dangerous, and this was Reid's life in the hands of a person who so obviously cared for a different outcome.

Morgan was proud to see just how swollen Jenkins jaw had been, Reid had gotten him and damn good at that, but Jenkins did get him better. Skull fracture, memory loss, concussion… how long would Reid be out of the field for something like that? Would he even be able to fly back with them? After all, when Hotch had been so close to the car-bomb he was unable to fly. Sure it didn't stop him from trying it once, but still… it was obvious to everyone that Hotch had pushed himself past his own limits and probably lost some of his hearing because of it.

"Hey pretty-boy, you know a good dry-cleaner?" He asked as he stepped through the door.

He couldn't help but remember how he had sacked Reid and Jenkins. He heard the gun click, and then his mind was reeling… the click wasn't associated with a boom but with a flash of the memory of his own father dying right in front of his eyes. It was no small miracle that he didn't suffer that again because for whatever reason Reid's gun didn't fire. He tried it twice more and Morgan's feet were moving closer each and every time, the bastard had even thrown the gun and hit Hotch in the stomach because that man wasn't going to move an inch further from Reid than he was. Morgan had plowed into them both, knocking Reid from Jenkins grasp as he pummeled the shit out of him in the water, he heard Hotch's feet sloshing in water. No doubt in his mind Hotch was getting Reid out of there as he should have been. Morgan took the pleasure of thrashing the struggling Jenkins a few extra times before turning him face-down in the water to cuff him. Something far more rough than what was necessarily needed as far as technique went, but it was oh so needed for the way Reid had looked. He was cuffed and hoisted out of the water within seconds, though. A lot shorter than a sentence Reid undoubtedly had faced.

It took everything in him to not pin Reid in a hug, much like Hotch had done, because he knew Reid hated physical contact. He loved the guy, he was family, but he knew what Reid's limits were and respected them. He wasn't horribly shocked that Hotch had made an exception and he deduced why when he saw the smear of blood in Hotch's sleeve, because Hotch was covering for Reid when the kid broke down and cried.

Reid looked at him strangely, "Dry cleaning…? When's the last time _you've_ personally done laundry?"

"You still owe me, I saved your ass and ruined my pants and shirt in the process."

"Your shirt's cotton." Reid said in a dead-pan Hotch could be proud of. "And I don't remember you saving me."

Morgan smirked, good, Reid was in good spirits. "Really? Well I remember it perfectly." He grasped his hands together, eyes batting as he looked toward the light, "You were all, 'My hero' and I totally saved your ass. You can ask Prentiss or Hotch, they were there."

Prentiss glared at Morgan in a playful way, feeling thrown under the bus she opted to return the favor, "I don't know what you're talking about. I went to check for the victim once Reid was safe."

A motion in the corner of Prentiss's eyes made her turn and look at Reid who was suddenly grabbing at his head, doubled over in pain, she immediately began apologizing while putting her hand on the top of Reid's back, "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry Reid were we being to loud…?"

"…Her hands and face were cut off…" Reid raised his head, still doubled over, "I was under water thinking I had to stop struggling so he thought he'd drown me… so I could get away, but it was taking so long and then there was water in my mouth… and I really was drowning…"

"Hey, kid, maybe you should sit down…" Morgan was at the other side of Reid, pulling out a chair.

Prentiss waited for Morgan to have physical contact with Reid before poking her head into the hallway and alerting Hotch and Rossi that something was up.

Reid began hyperventilating, the feeling of water rushing into his lungs, burning…

"Woah, man… sit down, Reid!" Morgan commanded, trying to keep Reid upright even as his legs went limp. He managed to slow Reid's fall and land him in a chair he had thankfully already pulled out for him. He contacted it with a clatter.

"God, why did it have to be so dark out? I couldn't see where he was…" He looked up from staring at the table to see Hotch and Morgan now flanking his sides. He swiped at his tired eyes, he couldn't help but remember the feeling he had felt when Tobias Henkel's alterpersonality had physically beat the life out of him when his chair fell back. He shivered, which only made his head throb more being moved in such a way. He suddenly realized he had been thinking out loud, he locked eyes with Morgan then Hotch and blushed appropriately, "I… I'm fine, really… I was just remembering something that happened is all…"

Hotch and Morgan seemed to exchange a look before Hotch took out his keys, "Can you walk? We're heading back to the hotel."

"But we just got here, you wanted to fill out the report…"

"I can do that on the plane and mail it to them. We already have a full confession."

Reid gave him a tempered look, "I'm fine, I don't need to be whisked off to the hotel just because I remembered something. How fragile do you think I am?" He realized he didn't want to hear that answer immediately after saying the question and cursed his mind for being so fuzzy at the moment. Normally his mind-to-mouth filter protected him better than that.

He was glad his teammates opted not to answer him, though. Morgan just gave him a look, "What time is it anyway?"

"12 AM, it's time to pack it in and call it a night. We'll leave the hotel at 7, Morgan." Hotch said, redirecting his conversation.

"I'll let the girls know, why don't you and Reid head back now, the rest of us can double up into the other SUV." He briefly thought of Dave trying to drive, "On second thought, take Rossi. I value my life and he's a horrible night-driver." Morgan smiled because he knew Hotch agreed. Rossi knew how to get around, he also knew how to do it at break-neck speeds. The problem was he didn't know how to warn people in the car with him when break-neck moments were about to occur and maybe warn them to brace themselves.

Reid gave Hotch a look, "Well, I guess that leaves you to drive." He stifled a yawn, he picked up his bag before he left the room.

Morgan caught eyes with Hotch, "JJ, Prentiss and I can break down the room… Just get him back to the hotel."

Hotch gave him a look that said he didn't need to be told that, he added a clear, "He'll be in my room tonight, so you don't have to check up on him."

Morgan nodded twice then started taking down the photos from the corkboard.

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

Bogged Down, Part 4  
by Vanessa S. Quest

Morgan took down the eighty-ninth push pin from the board, there were approximately twenty photos in a neat pile, the map was still on the board where Reid had dedicated a good portion of his seven-day stint here coloring and eliminating territories for.

All Morgan cared to think of at that exact moment was that Reid, and the rest of the team for that matter, put far too much time in to the job. Morgan knew working here wasn't about the money, hell it wasn't about the glory or even just saving a life… it was about making a difference that the team would never see. It was about saving the lives of the future victims, countless victims that they were here for… and today Reid almost wasn't here anymore because of it. He let out a breathy sigh catching JJ's attention.

"Penny for your thoughts…?" JJ asked.

"Heh, I get the feeling Reid could get a hell of a lot better an asking price for his." Morgan smirked, his eyes were sad no matter what his mouth belied. "I was just thinking the kid's seen too much in his years. I'm hoping he'll be okay."

"Of course he will be, he has Hotch." Prentiss shot, quickly. Morgan raised an eyebrow not sure if she even meant her double entendre. After all, even Morgan had been surprised when he saw the cues Hotch had been shooting Reid for several years now, actually. After all, Hotch had been the straight-laced FBI guy for as long as he'd known him, which was for over seven years. Hotch, wife and kid. Hotch, American dream. Hotch, bisexual with a fixing to fix Reid. Morgan had been surprised but not naïve to the signs. Unlike Reid.

For all the geniusing that Reid had in him, he just could not get the social intelligence necessary to see how obvious Hotch's actions were, which is why Morgan always assumed Hotch would be _so_ overt. Maybe if Reid was more savvy the game of cat-and-mouse would have been harder to pick up on for the rest of them, but with Reid who _COULD_ be? Even a super-star actress had to pull him into a pool and make out with him before Reid even thought she might potentially have a bit of a wayward crush on him and even then the guy just didn't get she meant it. Hero-worship Morgan's ass.

"Yeah, Hotch'll look out for him, but Reid's mind can be a mine-field, you know?" He observed the board carefully evaluating which would be the next set of tacks to take down, he opted to take down Reid's colorful map next. "He shuts down sometimes. He can zone out for hours and then it doesn't matter who's there when he's like that. You know, he'll go house-plant on you, think up a storm and then go for a cup of coffee before turning human again."

"Well, he's SOL because there's no coffee for him for a week, doctor's orders."

"Ten bucks say he doesn't follow that order." JJ offered.

Morgan smiled at JJ, "Do we count on Hotch running interference?"

JJ thought for a moment, "Yeah. All bets are on him not making it a week without getting coffee into him, not just trying to get it into him."

"I'm in."

"Make it twenty. And Rossi'll put in too. I'm sure he'd take the bet. Good margins."

"Oh come ON Prentiss, you can't call dibs on him."

"I'll have him putting in on the opposing side, of course… you know, split the bet with Jaje, that way he'll owe me dinner." She winked. Suddenly Morgan realized she meant her double entendre fully.

"Fair enough, but we can't run interference in either way." He clarified, "After all, caffeine's no good for him right now… so no spiking anything on him."

JJ smiled, "You can try to police him too, he's Spence, he'll find a way to coffee." She pulled another pin from the board, the map toppled.

CMCMCMCM

Rossi opened the door for Reid and Hotch as Hotch half-dragged a stumbling Reid into the hotel, it was obvious Reid was asleep, convincing him to stay that way AND walk had been an adventure, but Hotch was sure the younger agent would appreciate that over him being carried bridal-style over the threshold to a cheap hotel any day of the week.

"You need anything, Aaron?" Rossi asked while stepping inside Reid's hotel room.

"Let me know if you ever get that grant for a time-machine." Hotch mentioned almost bitter-sweet. "Other than that, I'm fine for now."

"Aaron, the kid'll be fine." Rossi offered.

"Reid's resilient, but that doesn't mean I want to see how many times we can press the self-destruct button before it sticks. I'm sorry, I'm venting, you're tired, I'm tired, we're all tired, so you should get back and rest or pack pick one."

"Don't pull this shit on me. I know you care about him, and I know right now you're bottling up your emotions to be a strong face, and you know it too. But what you probably don't realize is that you don't have to do that bull shit for me. I'm a big boy and I can handle your problems too, you can let it out to me and it won't affect how we work together or even what I think of you. You're still a workaholic who looks like he packs to go to funerals."

"I keep forgetting how much of an ass you are if you miss out on your night-cap." Hotch smiled warmly, that made Rossi's shoulders relax a bit.

"You and the ex-wives." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Reid whom Hotch had deposited on the bed, "If you find yourselves needing anything remember two things, I'm here if you need me… and the room next to his is empty, behave."

Hotch raised an eyebrow at Rossi, "How much _did_ Emily hear?"

"Anything she heard about anything like that she was smart enough not to say. She might not like politics, but she's not an idiot about them either. I'm sure the team knows regardless, but that's not what matters."

"And in your professional opinion, what would that be?" Hotch said, crossing his arms a bit defensively.

"Well, obviously that you two make each other as happy as you can for as long as you can… Strauss be damned, and same with the rest of the brass. You think they've never broken a policy to get what _they_ wanted? The point is, what they wanted wasn't anywhere near as important when they did it. Ah, but maybe my age and bitter divorce settlements have made me a romanticist."

"You're a regular Hallmark card." Hotch said, deadpan.

"And with that, I've outstayed my welcome. Have a good night. I'll give you a wake-up call at 6."

"No need." Hotch asserted.

"Fine by me. G'night."

CMCMCMCM

Hotch's cell phone chirped loudly three times before his hand fumbled to find the off switch and look at it incredulously as he realized the time. He had just dozed off after working on the report, watching Reid sleep in a semi-peaceful state for the most of it.

He touched Reid's shoulder gently, "Spencer, Spencer it's time to wake up." His other hand rubbed at his own tired eyes. Reid rolled in the bed trying to get away from the invasive hand, his mind hell-bent on sleep. "Reid… wake up already."

Reid grumbled when Hotch's voice turned into stern _drill sergeant_ mode, "'m tired though…five more minutes…"

Hotch's eyebrow shot up, "Reid, wake up." He smiled fondly as he decided to poke Reid's shoulder, hoping to annoy him enough to stir.

Reid swatted at the hand before sitting up, becoming more aware he apologized, "Huh? Oh… sorry… sorry I was still asleep…" He let out a long yawn.

"I know, that's fine. How's your head doing…?" Hotch asked hopefully.

"Fifteen."

"…Fifteen what…?" Hotch asked clearly confused.

Reid was all too happy to clarify, "On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst pain in your life, fifteen. I feel like I should be dead." He stretched his arms looking around for some form of distraction to take away from the pulsating ache that was traversing his skull in rapid succession.

"I think there's an ice machine down the hall. I'll be right back." Hotch offered, taking up his room key-card. "Just stay here and I'll be right back."

"No way, Hotch, you don't have to. I'll go…" Reid received something just shy of a glare, the definitive order behind it was loud and clear. "…Okay, uh, thanks." He blushed.

Hotch put his hand on Reid's shoulder, "Just try to rest. I'll be back soon." He leaned in quickly and pressed his lips gently to Reid's cheek.

Reid gawked before snapping back to senses, too bad Hotch was out of the room by time Reid had managed to accomplish that feat. "…Right."

It had taken him approximately three minutes to locate the ice machine, procure ice in a bucket and realize that the horrible grinding sound the machine made would have been catastrophically horrible for Reid to have heard had he come along. Smiling to himself for being able to shield Reid from at least that much discomfort, Hotch returned victoriously to Reid's room with the prized ice. Unlocking the door, Hotch entered and found Reid curled against the headboard, already nearing sleep.

As quietly as he could manage, Hotch maneuvered the ice into an ice-pack and laid it on the side of Reid's temple, long fingers curved over his own as he held the ice-pack up. "Thanks." Reid let out in a mewl. "Still tired… goin' back to sleep now."

"That's fine, I'll wake you up in another hour." He snuggled closer to Reid, set his phone and then closed his eyes in companionable silence.

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

Hotch stirred to consciousness to the squirming beneath him suddenly punctuated by muffled shouts. His own eyes went wide as he noticed his arm had draped across Reid's shoulders, apparently he was handsy when he was asleep. He never had thought about cuddling with Reid, honestly, he had taken up this vigil as a means of protecting his agent, not sexually harassing him in his sleep… well, maybe not 'harass' but then again- that was beside the point! Hotch refocused on the sounds being transmitted from Reid.

A sudden chirping in his phone informed him it was time to wake Reid up, anyway, which by the looks of it would be a good thing. He selected the 'dismiss' function of his alarm before taking hold of Reid's arm.

"Reid, you have to get up now." He said in a soft, gentle tone. The same comforting tone he'd use to wake Jack up when he'd have nightmares- when Hotch was home that is.

To no great surprise, Reid didn't suddenly come around. He shook him harder. "Reid, snap out of it…"

The room was filled with a loud, pitched scream, the octaves bounced from middle C to a high E then choked down into a low, gruff baritone that amazed Hotch to hear in Reid's repertoire. Not like he'd ever admit to having an ear for Chopin, that just sounded like such a blatant pick-up line since Reid was such a fan of classical composers. It reminded him of the time coming home from a case, the discussion of musicians came up, how just about everything was affiliated with violence somewhere, and Reid had valiantly defended Beethoven, oblivious to the fact that Clockwork Orange existed just to spite that theory, not to mention countless war-crimes that took place in Germany during the 1930s and 1940s.

"REID!"

He was panting, now, hyperventilating and flailing his arms, kicking his legs, Hotch gave a quick over-view, the sheets were tangling Reid's legs. Was this a factor? "Reid, snap out of it… you're safe here." Hotch swiped the bangs from Reid's face, looking at the bandage pasted to the sides of Reid's head in the process.

Reid's eyebrows crinkled downward before finally raising, his eyelids came with it, he was still babbling in his sleep with punctuated volumes. It unnerved Hotch, his eyes weren't focused, and they weren't coming back into focus, either. "Reid… come on, wake up, Reid." He was gazing into Reid's eyes, waiting for recognition to alight within his brown orbs.

Those same orbs began darting around the room, a good sign, well mixed. He was coming aware of his surroundings, but apparently he had lost that sense at one point, he hoped it was from the dream, but the type of nightmare it would have to be to do that… well, Hotch just knew it wasn't usually a good outlook.

"Hotch… what're you doing in my room…?" He finally said, eyes resting on Hotch's dark, small eyes.

"You took a hit to the head, I'm here to make sure you wake up." He clarified.

"…Tha's weird… I don't remember ever getting an FBI-issued Hotch alarm-clock." Hotch gave him a look, scandalized maybe, but also a touch of concern. Reid wasn't acting Reid-like at all.

"You need to wake up, Reid. All the way." He pinched Reid's cheek playfully, enough to get more focus in Reid's eyes no less.

"Ow… hey, what's that for…?" Reid blinked several times before his eyes widened, "Wait… the hotel room…" He scanned the room, "What time is it?"

"4 AM."

"…I just blacked out, didn't I?" Reid brought his hand to his head before disentangling himself from the hotel sheets and standing up.

"Where are you going?" Hotch asked, concerned.

"Bathroom." He answered off-handedly, "I could really use some coffee…" Reid half-muttered.

"You're not going to find any of that in the bathroom, not like you can have any right now, anyway."

Reid gave Hotch a sideward glance, "I know, that's why I'm settling with some cold water to splash in my face."

"Don't get your bandages wet." Hotch warned, making Reid let out a groan. "…Don't tell me you didn't think about that?"

"Bingo." Reid sat back down before resting his face in his hands, "You up for a game of cards?"

"Depends, do you promise to play fair?" Hotch smiled at Reid hoping to pass the lighter air, the younger agent was obviously worn thin at the moment.

Reid pretended to think about it, jutting his lower lip out into a feigned pout, "You should learn to never play Vegas, no one beats it."

"You're not Vegas, _you're_ SSA Dr. Spencer Reid." Hotch clarified.

"Then let's play for cash." Reid smirked.

"Not happening, even with your head injury I'd be at too much of a disadvantage." Hotch went to Reid's satchel and drew out a deck of cards, where Reid normally kept them, Hotch had seen him retrieve them several times over the years and it was always in the same place. Despite Reid's looks, he really was fantastically organized.

"Oh come on, it's not like we're playing black-jack, I promise not to card-count."

Hotch gave him a look, "I'm not foolish enough to believe that. Let's play 5-card draw."

"Add some incentive… let's put something on the line."

"Strip poker?" Hotch said, almost dead-pan which managed to make Reid flustered.

"That… would definitely make things more interesting…"

"You don't get to keep anything, I like this watch." Hotch mentioned seriously. Reid nodded slowly as Hotch played dealer and dealt the cards. "No wild cards."

Reid looked at his cards before putting them back down. Just as he was about to put his shirt into the collateral, he was bombarded with a question he was hoping to dodge.

"What was the nightmare about?" Hotch arranged his cards, half-looking at Reid while he did so. It was obvious that he was trying to hide the fact that he was profiling Reid, but Reid pretended it wasn't that, it was more of a friend questioning another friend… well, maybe friend wasn't quite the correct level.

"Do we have to bring that up…?" Reid fidgeted, almost forgetting to put in for his cards, he suddenly slipped two cards out and putting them on the table, "Two please."

Hotch slid the cards to him and collected the offered cards in return.

"I think we should address it, don't you? You tend to internalize things a lot."

Reid dropped his head, feeling horribly, "I… uh… it's embarrassing."

"You were screaming. Loudly. Rossi said no one is in the room next to this one, since your room's on the corner and I was in the room next to yours… but Rossi was next to mine. They don't sound-proof this place THAT well. If he has questions, I'd prefer to have something to proffer."

"Please don't tell him about that!" Reid blushed.

"If I don't give him something he'll just assume I was being beastly to you, then Morgan would get involved. It's easier if you tell me about your nightmare and then I just brush him off with vague details."

"Or you could just be beastly to me…?" Reid suggested in compromise, he let out a sigh, "Alright, it was a flashback, I just remember not being able to breathe, it felt like I was underwater and couldn't get to the surface. It was dark, and I couldn't tell up from down, so I just felt like I was trapped and couldn't get air in… then I saw other bodies in the water with me, that the water was really blood, and that I was tangled in the limbs of the dead victims, that they were trying to get me to pull them up with me… but I couldn't save them, I couldn't save myself… and then, suddenly I was above the water, and the unsub was shooting me, trying to at least… the gun wasn't firing. I was trying to tell everyone the gun wasn't functioning, but then the bodies were coming out of the water and grabbing me, trying to pull me back in, like it was the river of Styx and I was supposed to cross over… it was… uh… horrifying."

Hotch's eyes were wide as he watched Reid gesticulate as he recounted the nightmare, he played one card before looking at his new hand, he rearranged three cards.

"I gather it would be." He looked at Reid's hand. "I'll play my socks."

"I raise you a shirt." Reid mentioned, Hotch nodded once.

Reid laid his cards bare, two pairs, deuces and fours high. A negligent seven marked the highest number Reid's hand consisted of.

Hotch looked at his cards sympathetically, placing down the first two cards down, a pair of threes. He then placed down another pair of threes and a queen. "That would be the shirt off your back, Vegas."

Reid narrowed his eyes, "I thought you told me I'm SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, and not in fact Vegas."

"Only one way to find that out, now isn't there?" Hotch smiled, Reid likened him to a wolf in that moment. Reid stripped off his night-shirt, his pajama pants, boxers and odd-matching socks the remainders of his pile. "I'll deal this time."

Hotch was unsure if Reid was doing it on purpose, or if the head injury was hindering him, but as he saw it, it was a glorious thing. Reid was in his boxers holding his cards and fidgeting, he dealt himself one card and dealt Hotch two. Hotch glanced at his own cards, so far he was down his socks. He was doing remarkably well for playing against the card-shark known as Reid.

He smiled slightly to himself hoping not to cue Reid off too much, he arranged his royal straight flush, hearts.

Reid waited for Hotch to show his hand, he faltered for a moment at the sight of a royal straight flush, Hotch let out an animalistic, "I believe you wagered your boxers…?"

He gave him an eye and a toothy smirk that looked carnal himself, "I think you wagered your pants AND shirt…" He showed his cards, "Ace high, spades. What can I say… you should never bet against house."

Hotch's eyes went wide as he spotted the only card combination higher than his play out before him, the same cards, but the right suit- spades beat hearts. It struck Reid that, as Hotch stripped down to pay his dues, he had no idea about strip-poker etiquette about how long to leer at his almost naked boss or how long after the game before putting clothes back on. He moved back to the bed, all this thinking was making his head hurt. Literally, he had a migraine thanks to a skull fracture and was too tired to figure any of the finer details out.

His boss gave him a look, not a carnal one, but a concerned one, "Your head…?"

"Yeah." Reid said as he moved slowly toward the covers, before finally laying down again, "It's bad. I'm going to sleep."

He didn't quite make out the disappointed sound from Hotch about the game not being finished, apparently Hotch was the competitive sort who played until someone was truly nude. Reid blushed at the realization that his boss was disappointed not to see him naked, but then recalled being kissed in the hospital. His blush suddenly deepened, he turned to spot Hotch who was slipping the cards back into their container and returning them to Reid's bag. He wondered how long Hotch had felt something for him, he knew his own feelings were hard to trace back to a start point, but recalling Hotch kissing him made him realize he wasn't the only one with unrequited feelings. "Hotch… about what happened in the hospital…"

"I meant it when I kissed you, but since you're almost naked, maybe now isn't the time to discuss feelings." Hotch recommended, desperately trying to play the gentleman and not prove Rossi right, well, right _now_. Right, later would be totally worth his while.

The young genius continued to blush as if the thought hadn't fully registered, and Hotch supposed it hadn't. Reid obviously wasn't at his best, what with the skull fracture and concussion and all…

"I… thought that was normally how it worked…?" Reid's timidity was refreshing to Hotch, but as he realized what Reid was suggesting he suddenly remembered Rossi's suggestion.

"Normality isn't something you're accustomed to. Besides, there's nothing normal about being pistol-whipped. And if it ever becomes normalcy, please avoid the trend, for future reference."

Reid looked dejected, which made Hotch feel lower than scum, "It isn't that I don't want to, Reid… it's whether or not _you_ do. You're not thinking clearly right now, I couldn't possibly ask for your decision in the state you're in… believe me, once your head injury resolves itself this matter will be slated for discussion and decisive actions."

Not wanting to press the issue after Hotch's clear reasoning and sound logic for the moratorium, Reid let his eyelashes flitter closed, he sat up of his bodies own accord and willfulness that shocked him, approached Hotch and bore down on his lips with Reid's plump ones. He straddled Hotch's hips before mentioning, "I know what I want. I've wanted it for years in fact. Since I clearly remember things that happened before this, I don't think it's fair to call that in question."

"I suppose I did open the door to this in the hospital." Hotch said, his hands snaking around Reid's waist before securing him closer. "Years, hmm?"

"Years." Reid nodded, he tried to hide the wince. Oh the mind, it was willing, the body… well, the brain, was tired and spongy with injury. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Hotch's shoulder and let out a sigh, "I think we do have to postpone anything further than this though. My head seriously hurts." He disengaged from Hotch's grips and went kitchenette to grab some ice Hotch had retrieved earlier, put it into the ice pack, and then rested it on his forehead, navigating to the bed.

"Not that my intentions are to spook you, but I confess I've loved you for years, now, too. Since before Haley even left."

Reid's eyes went wide, thinking how unfair of Hotch it was to say that before trying to go back to sleep, but then again, straddling a man's hips and saying 'I want it' and then copping out for a headache probably called them even. "I guess we really do have a lot to discuss next week." Reid offered a meek, shy smile. The kind that always warmed Hotch.

"That we do."

TBC.


	6. Chapter 6

Three days had past since returning home, Reid had yet to actually step foot into his own apartment, but presumed by the time he'd manage that he'd be greeted with the scent of rancid milk and putrid anything else in the fridge. Spending two weeks away at a time from his place after just bothering to get groceries was a nuisance, but then again that's why members of the BAU sans Hotch always shopped sparsely.

Hotch at least had someone waiting at home to eat the food if he for whatever reason couldn't. Sometimes Reid thought about getting a roommate, to still the loneliness and reduce the threats of unsubs breaking into his home and trying to gut him like a fish… but then he'd remember that he all but hated dealing with people who didn't understand him, preferred his privacy most often, and that craigslist was practically an invitation to additional crazies to try to find where he lived.

No, _Eclectic genius who works for the FBI looking for a roommate to eat his food when out of town for long stints of time with EXTENSIVE book collection worth approx. $100,000_, was not getting posted on the internet to bite him in the ass.

On the other hand, what he had been doing for the last three days had been rather nice in between boughts of a screeching headache. The only thing making it an additional challenge was when Jack was rambunctious, a 6 year old screaming in excite while perfectly normal had sent Reid reeling into a wall the first time he'd been in close proximity to it. He spent the better part of two hours trying to actually physically recover from it and how guilty he felt for it! Hotch had looked ashamed at himself, Jack felt bad even though he was just being a normal little boy, and all that made Reid feel lower than scum. He was sure without a headache all of it would have been pleasant… but, well, skull fractures just meant headaches. There wasn't too many ways around it.

Contemplating these things, Reid surveyed the kitchen. He had opted to try his hand at cooking, after all what was cooking if not for a science? True, baking was more precise, but he was sure he could handle macaroni and cheese out of a box, plus it gave Hotch time with Jack which was important to both of them. Reid wasn't some selfish little kid who had to have attention all the time. Even this amount of time seemed too much to be fair, if he was going to be honest about it.

Of course, then there was the promise of sex… Reid almost burned his hand on the pot as his mind detonated that flash-bomb. Hotch had made it clear once he was given the clean bill of health that things would go in that direction. He couldn't possibly have misinterpreted that, right? He'd transfer if he was that off his game. He'd never live it down. Reid was having a self-conscious micro-anxiety attack as he stirred in the 'blue dinosaur' box.

He burned himself a second time, followed by a low string of muffled, pained vowels as a set of strong arms wrapped around his waist, he felt a mouth bury itself in the crook of his neck and knew Hotch was kissing him, well, he had been until Reid had burned himself. Then he was swiftly pulled to a faucet, now running with cold water, and forced to put his hand under the stream.

It shouldn't have had the reaction it did, but suddenly Reid wasn't in a kitchen in the arms of a man he'd secretly loved for years, no, now he was in the hands of a madman pinning him into a creek as he thrashed to breathe. His entire body went stiff save for the tremble, his pupils dilating as his mind reeled back to what had happened within the last 80 hours. It seemed to hit Hotch at about the same time, because that was when he completely disengaged from physical contact and initiated a psychological contact instead.

"Oh, god, Reid… Spence, I didn't mean to startle you… Spence, come on, snap out of it… You're safe now, you're in Virginia, you're at my place… Spence…? Can you hear me…? Come on, answer me, please."

He took the boiling-over pot off the flame, moving it to the back-burner as he constantly spoke in gentle, soothing tones as he tried to snap Reid out of his mental trappings, never an easy feat.

Reid shook his head as if that were all it took to remove the fuzziness there, he instantly regretted it and came to his knee clutching the side of his head. "Ow… ow… ow…" Hotch was sure he even heard Spencer calling himself 'stupid' for not remembering that sudden movements of the head hurt like hell.

"Spencer…"

Reid held up a hand defensively, "Don't… I just need a second…" He breathed, "Have to collect myself… that's all, I'll be fine." And true to his word, he started to stand up and act like that hadn't just happened. He went to a chair and sat down for a moment then gestured for Hotch to join him.

"Sorry about that… the water… it just triggered… you know." He didn't want to elaborate. As much as he loved and trusted Aaron, Hotch was still his boss and bosses had to approve psych evals before agents graced the field. Not like he met physical requirements at the moment. Hotch nodded in understanding, but Reid wasn't sure it that he really did grasp his current terror. He was losing his mind, he wasn't fully aware of what would trigger him into an episodic flashback and honestly, as a child of a mother with schizophrenia, he knew all too well the horrors of being locked inside one's own mind.

Aaron seemed to sense that sense of foreboding as he offered up a perfect distraction, "The mac and cheese is almost done, I'll finish it up, why don't you call Jack in for me…?"

"Ah, right… yeah, I'll get him." Reid stood up and left the kitchen, returning with a bouncy, happy 6 year old almost instantly. Hotch doled out the bowls of cheddary noodles.

This wasn't the first dinner… lunch… whatever, Reid wasn't sure enough of what to call eating at 3PM, but he was sure it wasn't going to be the last either, so he was alright with it. Intellectually he knew he just had to get through the next few days and find the path in front of him. The path that looked rosey and wonderful for the last few years of him staring at it, but even an idealistic genius knew roses had thorns, and navigating this would be a challenge. Completely worthwhile, true, but a challenge all the same; after all he was well aware that Hotch had an image as the BAU unit chief to uphold and if he didn't want to be Hotch's cyanide capsule of choice for political suicide, the line walked would be very fine indeed.

He'd worry about that once the encephalitis went down. Alright, so he was over-exaggerating his concussion just a wee bit, it still hurt like hell. He wondered if Hotch was going to kiss him better again, tonight… like he had for the past three nights. One thing was certain, though, his deck of cards would be waiting for him and an impromptu game of strip poker with his boss. Soon, he thought, privately as he continued to listen to Jack going on about his day so far, he took a bite from his spoon. Very soon he'd have answers, that feeling alone was enough to give him butterflies in his stomach. Damn mac and cheese landed heavily.

TBC.


	7. Chapter 7

Bogged Down Part 7

Reid looked from Hotch to the TV to Jack, who was lying asleep using Hotch's thigh as a pillow, back up to Hotch's eyes and smiled. He gestured to the Spongebob episode playing on the TV waiting for Hotch to direct him. A stiff nod gave him the indicator to turn off the episode.

Adjusting Jack slightly, Hotch shifted a pillow under Jack's head to replace his thigh before slipping out to lock eyes with Reid. He eyed the coffee in Reid's hand and regretted brewing it earlier. It had slipped his mind and he hated to be so insensitive. The younger man took a sip before realizing Hotch was giving him a look, it seemed to dawn upon him why he felt like it had been forever since he last had coffee—he still wasn't supposed to have any yet… he pouted a little bit, after all the coffee was so good. He handed it over to Hotch in defeat, who took a sip before pulling it away from his mouth to look at it indignantly.

"Uh, Spence… how much sugar did you-"

"No more than the usual." Reid looked at him oddly.

"And the usual is, what? Six tablespoons…?"

"Per every 16oz, yeah… so there's only 4 in that cup. It holds about…" Hotch's hand shot up explaining he didn't need more information. "Ah, right."

He smiled gently and sat down on Hotch's other side, he leaned his head to Hotch's shoulder. "Is it weird that just a sip of coffee and my head hurts less?"

"Well, with the withdrawal… not really."

Reid pouted. "I think I know a little more about withdrawal than, nevermind." He blushed and looked away dismissively, Hotch decided to let him dodge the old issue. "I was wondering… uh, what we were talking about at the hotel…"

Hotch could feel Reid shifting, he was downright fidgeting. Hotch put his fingers behind Reid's neck, gently raking through Reid's curled locks of hair.

He looked at Jack, sleeping no more than ten inches from Hotch, "Actually… you know, we can talk about that later…" He sat upright until Hotch gently led him back to contact with his shoulder.

"I do love you, very much, and I'm in it for the long-haul, Spencer. That being said, rushing into it now isn't going to help things."

"I love you too, and I always will." He squeezed Hotch's hand before letting go. "I'm going to grab something to drink." He looked at the coffee longingly, forlorn, before submitted and opted for milk.

"What did the doctor say today about your CT results?"

Reid shook his head slightly, "They did say the fracture is healing, no clean bill of health just yet, though."

"After five days…? I'd doubt it." He smiled, draping an arm loosely around Spencer's shoulders.

"They did say that as long as I don't aggravate my head-injury that in another two weeks it should be alright for me to return to work… well the desk, pending any psych evals before I'm cleared for active duty… you know the drill."

"Hmm, what did they say about strenuous activities?"

"…Not to hit my head." Reid looked at him oddly for a moment then blushed when he realized just what Hotch meant. "…wait, I thought you said we had to wait…"

"Until I was sure you're thinking more clearly and not running off adrenalin, fear, or have blatant effects of a concussion. What day is today?"

"…Saturday…" He turned his head slowly.

"Then Jessica may be able to take Jack with her kids to go to that petting zoo. That would give you and I about two, maybe three hours."

"…For what?"

Hotch brought Reid's hand to his lips, taking his index and middle finger into his mouth and sucking for a moment until realization hit Reid. "Oh… oh!" Suddenly, the two were giddy and all smiles, though Hotch's were a bit more lecherous than Reid's.

"We can talk ramifications until we're both blue in the face, but I believe you when you say you love me, and I know that I love you. How we approach this at work, we can discuss that once we know what _this_ is. I'm suspecting wonderful to be the answer to that."

Reid nodded softly, "Yeah… I have to concur… should I… uh… get the phone?"

Hotch whipped out his cell phone, "Jack will probably wake up by time she gets here." And with that, Hotch called Jessica.

TBC.


	8. Chapter 8

Bogged Down Part 8

Spencer Reid knows many things, he knows that in Ancient Rome they would paint food with thin layers of gold to consume, he knows that 50% of all Americans live within 50 miles of where they are born, and he knows now, first hand, that sex with Aaron Hotchner is in fact better than breathing.

He silently hopes half-way through his second orgasm within the hour that Hotch would never deprive him of this high, because he's not strong enough to go through this sort of withdrawal, and saying he'd gone days without coffee and years without dilaudid, that was saying something.

His fingers curled as they raked paths across Aaron's back, his mouth agape, throat exposed and facing the ceiling, he panted through his orgasm, sounds refusing to be made as even his trachea clenched down, vocal cords refusing commands as every nerve in his body shot signals at once. He could taste colors in that split second, purple was probably his favorite flavor. Somehow, it tastes like sparklers.

Reid's neck bent, lowering his head to Hotch's shoulder, more specifically, his teeth to it, as he bit down to leave a mark, proof that it is real. He didn't draw blood with it, since that wasn't his goal. It was a taste, a piece of personal evidence. Spencer Reid was here.

Aaron's own arm managed to pull Spencer closer to his own body, ignoring the sunken-in teeth in his shoulder as he pressed belly to belly with his lover. "Another round?"

"Hell yes."

Sentences and thoughts were broken, and Reid didn't equate that to the concussion, it was the sex. The animalistic meeting of two bodies that should have been doing this for YEARS now, Reid chided himself for not cornering his boss sooner, but that didn't matter any more. This, this was real, this was amazing, and this was going to happen at the minimum of every three days or Reid would seriously lose his mind. Eidetic memory did not mean he could trigger his own orgasm, well, maybe it did now that Reid had a driving memory of something worth-while to pull him to climax.

Aaron's phone began to do a vibrating dance on the night stand causing the man to groan a little as he pulled out of Reid to look at the caller ID. He let out a breath, "I have to take this."

"Damn." Reid muttered, but took the instance to reacquaint himself with breathing. Seriously, he'd give that sensation up for being filled with Hotch, any day of the week. Reid pulled the rubber off of Hotch while the older agent communicated on the phone, saying something or other, Reid didn't care. His focus was the little Hotch (okay, so not that little of a Hotch), and how to please it more to keep it doing those amazing things inside him.

Aaron gave Reid a measured look as he continued his conversation, key words drifted to Reid, timelines, "Another hour…? …For dinner…? Fine, have a good…"

Reid's tongue raked over Hotch's exposed member, no rubber as he did it, he didn't have to worry about getting cum in his mouth, in his ass would lead to clean-up and take away crucial moments of how much sex they could have, but his mouth? Easy clean-up.

Hotch quickly pulled Reid up from himself and into a kiss. Pulling back he added wispily, "We have half an hour more before we have to clean up. Then we're going out for dinner." Hotch kissed him.

In that moment, Reid was confused by the word 'we', did 'we' mean Jess, her immediate and her extended family, or did it mean Hotch and Jack, or more hopefully, did it include Reid too?

"Where are you going…?"

"We're all going to Cracker Barrels, not my idea, sorry. Jess wants to meet you."

Reid's eyes widened, "Why?"

"Jack apparently couldn't keep his mouth shut about you. I think she thinks you're my girlfriend."

"…I'm a guy." Reid said, dead-pan.

"I know, so I think we should educate her on that point."

Reid blushed, "Wait, wait, you mean…?"

Hotch nods, "I'd like to introduce you as my lover. Is that not acceptable?" For a moment his tone turns worried, but Reid's too in shock, blushing, to address that.

After several moments of silence, Reid throws his arms around Hotch and lays kisses over his open mouth. That fear that last minute the rug would be pulled from under his feet was gone. How could this feeling ever go away, though, really? He placed less aggressive and more aggressive kisses on Hotch until the man started to reciprocate, take control, and allow for a battle of who would dominate each kiss to play out on the bed.

Half an hour later, the making out had to cease from occurring on the bed, so it moved to the shower where the pair began to ready themselves for dinner, half-assed as they were still far more busy touching and exploring each other's bodies.

TBC.

A/N: Hey guys, I know it's been a while since the last update, but I figured I'd give you this for a hold-over. Please R & R! The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to continue a story aggressively. Sad, but true.


	9. Chapter 9

Sitting in Aaron's car- not the Tahoes they drove case to case, but his honest to goodness personal vehicle- Spencer was sweating bullets. What the hell was he supposed to say to Jessica? He didn't have enough working information on Hotch's inlaws to even possibly understand what would be appropriate to disclose and what would just …make for a horribly awkward and short-lived relationship with Hotch. He knew mentioning what Aaron had said about his personal timeline would be… off-limits to say the very least, but what wasn't?

He didn't understand sibling dynamics as a person who lived through it, or sister-in-law to widower dynamics- and they haven't written any book on the subject that Reid's stumbled across. The euphoric high of finally having Aaron for himself for a good hour just came with a set of complications he really, really should have thought about before going off to dinner with the extended Hotchner family.

"Spencer, relax… Jessica isn't as judgmental as Haley. She is about as snarky, truthfully, she's a lot like Dave." He nodded as if it dawned on him just how accurate of an assessment that was. She held her tongue, knew more than she'd ever share, and she'd lie you flat out if she wanted or needed to, that and there was her propensity to meddle.

Spencer gave Aaron the most fleeting of looks before locking eyes on an ever-changing point outside the car window. "What are safe subjects?" He said with just enough assertiveness to prove he meant it.

"She's going to want to know more about you as a person, and your stance on kids- more specifically Jack." Aaron amended when he saw Spencer blanch.

"This is more intimidating than interviewing death-row inmates." He muttered, he recalled the time he and Hotch had gone to one that almost ended very badly. Somehow, he felt nostalgic, it was a real shame that he couldn't just do that instead. Maybe dressed in a mini-skirt too, it would still probably be easier and less likely to end in violence, at least it felt that way.

Aaron found Spencer's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "I love you, and that's not going to change."

Spencer squeezed back, "I get the feeling there's going to be more of these, aren't there?"

"Introductions? Absolutely, you're too important to me to not have the people in my life know about, but we'll take it at a pace you're comfortable with."

Spencer nodded, "And if I just want to keep you all to myself…?"

Aaron smiled, he pulled Spencer's hand to his lips and kissed it, "I wouldn't have pegged you as a possessive lover."

"Oh come on, with my abandonment issues? You're a better profiler than that." He smiled, "besides, you're not really supposed to be profiling me, or was the rule that you can't profile team members, but significant others is completely kosher."

"Well, if we didn't I'd run the risk of dating a sociopath and I couldn't have such a bad influence around my son…" Aaron teased, "Spencer, I mean it, I mean it more than I've meant anything in my romantic life before. I love you, it's what absolution feels like, your arms."

"I really hope I'm not dead, but if I am, at least I'm in heaven." He muttered, casually touching his forehead, "I never thought of myself as possessive beforehand, but I never really had anyone I wanted to keep to myself. Maybe it's just you, you bring that out in me… but I get this feeling that this is a dream, a fantastical whimsy my mind is playing before me, because there's no way I could ever be as lucky to get who I've wanted for so long and for it to work…"

"You weren't the only one, I'm still half-expecting you to come to your senses and realize you could do so much better than me… but I'm happy to keep you company until you realize just how much better you could do."

"That'll be for a while, Aaron, because you are incredibly amazing."

"I think that's my line, Spencer. If it gets too awkward for you- she knows that you have a skull fracture."

Spencer let out a small scoff, "She knows that, but not that I'm a guy?"

"Oh no, she's aware of that too… well, she knows that my subordinate Dr. Reid has a skull fracture and that Jack knows I have a lover which she's assuming are not one and the same."

"Now I am getting a headache. So her source of all information is Jack? I'll have to remember that."

"Yeah, kids possess a one-way valve for information. Once they know it, everyone else who'll listen will too, until just before adolescents."

As Aaron pulled into the parking lot, Spencer saw the outlines of a certain 6 year old bouncing back and forth between Jessica and her husband- Spencer was searching his vast memory banks and couldn't for the life of him recall ever hearing the man's name- before Aaron squeezed his knee. "That's Paul, he's usually quiet around strangers- he's self-conscious about his teeth."

Spencer nodded, "Right."

In unison, the two opened their doors and shut them before approaching the group, Spencer could watch the emotions wash over Jessica and Paul's faces- confusion, shock, realization, then the opinions verged- Paul looked horrified, Jessica looked accepting, but had that slightly peeved look, aimed more at Aaron than Spencer.

"Uh, hi." Spencer said to the group, he rubbed Jack's hair ruffling it up.

"Hi Spencer, it's been a long time. Since the funeral, hasn't it been?" Jessica said, smiling pleasantly to Spencer, giving Aaron a death-stare.

"Uh, yeah… how've you been?"

"Better, it's not something you just walk away from, but it's getting better." She nudged Paul in the ribs, "Paul, say hello to Spencer here."

"Hello." He said in more shock than anything else. "Weren't you going to… uh… bring over your girlfriend?"

"I don't have one, Paul." Aaron said with a clean cut through the bullshit. "But I am seeing Spencer."

"Right. Right, I always thought Sean might be a little funny, but… well, I didn't think all the Hotchner men, uh, swung that way." He looked down at Jack, "Not that there's …anything wrong with that…" he back-pedaled.

"Like hell there isn't." Jessica smiled, she took hold of Aaron's shoulders, "You could at least have the decency to cover up what you were doing. Your son is here too." She continued, "And a subordinate? I guess that's an occupational hazard, but really… a _subordinate_? Are you trying to get fired?"

"As much as Strauss likes to make my life a hell, she can't function without me there, and she'd never dare transfer Reid out of her department. He makes her look too good."

"I hear black-eyes like that always make a woman look ten years younger." She rolled her eyes, "You two just be careful- no, make that discrete. Well, now that that's all out of the way, let's sit down and eat. Spencer, we have a lot of catching up to get through."

"We do, don't we?" He said politely, wondering just what the hell he stepped into. This was more political than he expected, then again, Haley was a big part in how Aaron had played the game and climbed the ranks. He'd heard the stories, and he knew the statistics, especially about single men even very talented single men and the likelihood that they'd be skipped over for an equally talented married man. He really hoped Aaron realized what he signed up for, because it was too late to take back his feelings now.

TBC.


End file.
